


I Want To Hold Your Hand, Napoleon

by mvernet



Series: The Blond Beatle Affair [6]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Birdland, Canon-Typical Violence, Holding Hands, M/M, Mention of past consensual underage sex, Mention of past emotional abuse, Songfic, The Beatles - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:17:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6144283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvernet/pseuds/mvernet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon invites Illya out for an evening of hot food and cool Jazz.</p><p>A Songfic inspired by I Want To Hold Your Hand  by The Beatles<br/>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4X5Bt6V7tcM</p><p>Bonus Youtube Vid! 1964 Beatles press conference at Delmonico’s Hotel, New York, New York<br/>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UYzB_Fxi5eo</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want To Hold Your Hand, Napoleon

Illya inhaled the chill, sharp air of a New York spring night. The aroma was a strange mix of heady lilac, fresh baked bagels and bus fumes. The familiar scent of his new home. He looked up at the stars through the odd shaped windows where the skyscrapers met the atmosphere far above him. The star shine mixed with neon and shone down into the canyon of concrete and metal. He knew the same stars shone down on the vast open spaces and golden fields of his motherland. His past felt like a dream now, a dream found under the stars that fades in the light of the sun. His past life was fading away and in it’s place, a new life of hope with Napoleon.

The diner at Delmonico’s Restaurant had been superb. Manhattan clam chowder, Delmonico steaks with all the trimmings and Baked Alaska. Between the delectable food, the outstanding wine and the delightful company of Napoleon, Illya felt like he had been set afloat on a sea of decadence with no rescue in sight.

_I could have fed an entire Russian village on that steak alone. Napoleon was dear. He is truly my Dorogoy, expensive and dear. Being my extra arm, cutting the perfect steak in succulent pieces and then popping forkfuls in my mouth whenever I opened it to speak. He was worried that I had not eaten enough lately. Imagine someone in this world worried about whether I, Illya Nickoveth Kuryakin, has had enough to eat! I would be hard pressed to have shared the experience or the steak with anyone. I will selfishly treasure it. He is definitely a bad influence on me._

Napoleon raised an elegant hand to hail a cab. Illya chuckled softly as a cab screeched to a stop mere inches from them.

_No one but Napoleon can hail a cab in this city at eight in the evening on a Friday night and have one instantly appear. I must find out sometime how he does it!_

Napoleon held the cab door open as Illya slipped in as gracefully as his one free arm would let him. Napoleon was beside him in a heartbeat. Illya’s lip twitched with the faint hint of a smile. He was enjoying himself.

_Illya Nichovetch! What is wrong with you tonight? You are acting like a lovesick prince on the way to a grand ball!_

Napoleon leaned closer to the cabbie. “ _Birdland_ , jazz club, please. It’s on Broadway just north of…”

“Wha’d ya think I’m just drivin’ this cab for my health? I know where it is Mister Fancy Pants. Sheeesh!”

Napoleon’s eyebrows went into his hairline and he opened his mouth to say something scathing, but Illya yanked on his sleeve.

“Sit your fancy pants next to me, Napoleon. Leave the nice man to do his job.” 

The look on Napoleon’s face foiled Illya’s attempt not to smile. He laughed and Napoleon slumped into the backseat. His deep laugh joined with Illya’s. Napoleon went to take Illya’s hand in his, but stopped himself and straightened his cuffs instead, still laughing quietly. Illya noticed and stopped laughing. He slid further back into his seat and looked out the window into the bright city night.

_He’s afraid to touch you, Illya Nickovetch. If he only knew how much I want him to. He has melted my heart with his warmth and reformed it into something I do not recognize. I am just as afraid to touch him. Some cold blooded, iron hearted, steel souled spies we are. Afraid of a little...love._

~~~O~~~

Illya was mesmerized by the sights and sounds of _Birdland._ Napoleon had procured an excellent table in the back of the dimly lit, crowded room. The atmosphere was one of slow simmering anticipation. Clinking glasses, subdued conversation, intermixed with sudden peals of laughter soothed Illya’s senses while he waited eagerly for the music to begin. Napoleon introduced him to the owner, Oscar Goodstein, who had insisted on sending them a bottle of champagne. A waiter appeared to pop the cork. The partners both jumped at the sound, too much like a gunshot for their tastes.

Illya raised his glass and searched a moment for a toast. He remembered the day he met Napoleon and how he had been treated to lunch and friendship. “To us, Partner.”

Napoleon smiled and raised his own glass. “Partners, yes to this I drink.”

Illya sipped his champagne, touched that Napoleon had remembered his own answering toast from their first lunch together. Then the tiny bubbles of the champagne hit his palate and exploded with dry, sweet flavor.

“Bozhe moy! This tastes fantastic! Like wine… but more... “ Illya took another sip as Napoleon tried to compose his face. “Amusing… yes, like giggles running across my tongue!”

“Oh, Illya! I had almost forgotten that this is your first time. You might want to go easy…”

Illya finished the glass and pushed it under Napoleon’s nose. “More, please. I can not pour and hold the glass." Illya nodded to his slinged arm.

Napoleon obliged, thoroughly enjoying his personal Illya show. “Ahhh, you’re not on pain meds anymore are you?”

“No, just antibiotics. The arm is mostly healed, Dorogoy. I just overdid the physical therapy today and spent too much time on the firing range before heading to the lab. I am a little sore.”

“Illya! I gave you an order to recover, not to run yourself ragged!”

Illya sipped his now full glass of champagne. “You sound like Sam. Eat, son. Rest, son. Come home with me, son.”

“What?” 

Napoleon put the champagne bottle back in its ice bath with a loud “chink.” Illya took another large sip from his sparkling glass.

“I had dinner with Sam’s family. His large extended family. I liked them. They reminded me… well... his grandmother lives with them and she deemed it her personal mission to feed me my weight in home-cooked dishes. I made the lovely old woman happy by trying to oblige her and ate them all. His grandson thought I was very secret, cool spy. He watched me from behind the couch with binoculars. By the end of the night he was in my lap begging for cool spy stories.”

The next sound out of Illya’s mouth sounded suspiciously like a giggle. He covered his mouth and his startled blue eyes opened wide in horror. 

Napoleon’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Illya, I think you have met your match. I’ve seen you drink a full bottle of Vodka and be sober as a judge, but a little champagne…”

“There must be something in the bubbles.” Illya eyed his glass with suspicion and let out another giggle before downing it in one go. “Another glass, please.”

Napoleon threw back his head and laughed. He refilled Illya’s glass. As he then leaned forward his hand naturally fell onto Illya’s. The blond Russian took Napoleon’s hand in his and would not let it escape. They both froze.

Oh yeah, I'll tell you something  
I think you'll understand  
When I say that something  
I wanna hold your hand  
I wanna hold your hand  
I wanna hold your hand

“Dorogoy, I have something to tell you.”

Napoleon looked around. It was dark and no one was paying them any attention. He looked into Illya’s eyes and swallowed.

“Yes?”

Illya reluctantly let go of Napoleon’s hand. He sat back in his chair. Napoleon placed an elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand to better hear what Illya had to say. He rubbed his other hand nervously across his knee.

_It will not do to draw attention to us. Napoleon knows many people here. The tiny bubbles have gone to my brain. But I do not care. I must tell him._

“When I was fifteen, I joined the navy. My father had been a naval officer. He died three years after I was born. There were no records left from our village. I don’t remember my own birthday. I was too small when…”

Illya reached under the table with his good arm and quickly found Napoleon’s hand. He gathered it in his own and caressed the back of Napoleon’s hand with his thumb. Napoleon took in a breath sharply, but made no other sound.

“...when the soldiers came and murdered them. However, my father’s official records showed that he was married and had a son. It was not me, it was my older brother, Sasha… Alexander Nickovetch Kuryakin. I think he was about three years my elder. I have no way to be sure."

"I adored Sasha. He was the one who wanted to be a sailor. He forever made me play the part of a traitorous spy who was shot at dawn by the brave naval officer. He told me stories of _Brave Alex Of The Waves_ and his trusted friend _Niki The Gypsy Boy._ I was so small, Dorogoy. So small. Sasha told me stories he had heard at my father’s knee. I can not remember my father.” 

Napoleon squeezed the cold hand in his as Illya spoke. He found the gold ring on Illya’s finger and gently turned it round and round as he listened intently.

“For some reason I was not listed in those records either.” Illya took another drink of champagne. Napoleon reached for his own half-filled glass.

“It was as if no one cared that I even existed. As if I was not worth the cost of the ink it would take to write my being into existence.”

As Illya sighed, Napoleon took a slow sip of champagne to keep himself from crying out and pulling Illya into a desperate hug.

“I simply let the naval officials think I was my older brother. His name was not in the records. Only that my father had a son, and the date of birth. They did not care enough to look too closely. I was not worth the effort to do research on or even to call the clerk for my father’s file. So I was enlisted, my age set as eighteen. I was still but fifteen or so.”

“I met Captain Artur Sergeyevich Marinesko a few months after I enlisted. He said I was quick witted and was impressed by the languages I could speak. He took me under his wing.”

Napoleon squeezed Illya’s hand tightly. He broke his silence, jealousy and hatred already coming to the surface of his mind.

“This is the _him_ , the one who you told me hurt you beyond repair, isn’t it?”

Illya nodded, “He was the first person to show me kindness. He was my mentor. My savior. And I grew to love him. I gave myself to him freely, Napoleon. I was desperately in love.”

“You were, what, sixteen?” Illya nodded while looking down at his empty glass. “And he was a captain in the navy? He must have been about…”

“... about twenty years older than me.” Illya hissed in pain. “Dorogoy, you are hurting my hand.” Illya whispered.

“I’m so sorry, Solnishko.” Napoleon lessened his grip on Illya’s hand slowly caressing and rubbing each of Illya’s fingers. He lingered on the ring finger.

“Is this ring...his? Some sort of sign of ownership?”

Illya smiled. “Dorogoy, you are so transparent. No, that is not his ring. He was never exclusively mine. He had many lovers. I suppose I was his favorite… house pet.”

“Illya! I’m being patient here, but if you call yourself that again I’ll have to shoot something.”

Illya chuckled. “The ring belonged to Sasha. He wore it on a chain around his neck. When the soldiers came that final night, Sasha tore it off his neck and put it in my pocket. His last words to me were, ‘Illyushka, you may sell the chain, but never the ring. Guard it with your life. Now run into the forest and live with the white wolves, but don’t let them eat you. Never look back. Be a good boy.’ He hugged and kissed me and yelled, ‘Run!’ I did what Sasha wanted. I miss him terribly, Dorogoy.”

In the silence that followed, Napoleon clasped Illya’s hand in both of his, gently massaging and letting his love flow into Illya’s still hand.

“How did you get away from the captain, Solnishko?”

Illya took a deep breath. “He sold me to the KGB. I think they gave him ten thousand Russian rubles for me, for _his_ inconvenience. Shortly after that he became an Admiral. That may have been part of the bargain, although he was quite skilled in the art of blackmail. He was tired of me, Dorogoy. I was about seventeen. I think I was too old for him. He broke my heart. I swore I would never love again, male or female or anything in between. The Ice Prince was born."

"I received my training from the KGB. I was very good in the field. They seemed amazed that I knew as much as I did about.. well… everything without having had any formal training except what I gleaned from being in the navy. They started testing my intelligence. They found out I had some.”

Napoleon snorted. “They were on the ball!” Napoleon pulled one hand back under his chin and patted Illya’s hand with his other.

“That is when I had an interview with Alexander Waverly. He had claimed me for U.N.C.L.E. and explained that I would be sent to Cambridge University. I didn’t really care at the time. I had been sold again to the highest bidder. This time I was sold by my own country.”

“Solnishko? Do you want to go back home? I mean if you were free…”

“I am free. Mr. Waverly wanted me to join U.N.C.L.E. of my own free will. What else was I fit for? I am an English citizen on paper. I don’t know what deal Mr. Waverly made with the KGB or even why he cared so much about me. He said he met my father. Perhaps they were friends.”

“Illya, ask Waverly why he singled you out and do it soon. That’s all I can tell you.”

Illya looked Napoleon in the eye and nodded. He understood, Illya finally took Napoleon’s hand in his and entwined their fingers.

”I do not wish to return, Dorogoy. I have no country. My home is here.” He thumped Napoleon’s hand against his knee for emphasis. “I am the boy who lived with the white wolves. Sasha was my home. As you are now, my Dorogoy.”

Napoleon brought Illya’s hand to his heart for a moment.

“Solnishko… I…”

“Have I told you how much I like it when you call me your ‘little sun’? It is as if I am reborn in your love and nothing that went before matters. Ya lyublya tebya. Dorogoy.“

Napoleon could hardly breathe. The hand in his was more erotic than any torrid evening of love. Illya released Napoleon’s hand and began rubbing his partner’s knee. Napoleon grabbed the wayward hand and possessed it, never wanting to let it go.

Illya whispered in his ear. “I like to hold your hand. I want to be yours.”

Oh please, say to me  
You'll let me be your man  
And please, say to me  
You'll let me hold your hand  
You’ll let me hold your hand  
I wanna hold your hand

“Your touch, Dorogoy. The simple touch of your hand makes me feel happy. I’ve never felt that before. I can not hide it from you or myself any longer.”

“Oh, Solnishko.”

And when I touch you I feel happy  
Inside  
It's such a feeling that my love  
I can't hide  
I can't hide  
I can't hide

“Oh, Solnishko, Illya...”

“I knew I could trust you with my heart. I think I knew it from the day we met. I knew you would understand that a frozen heart has to thaw slowly or it will be destroyed. I need just a little more time. Being your lover will be dangerous for us both in many ways. We must think long and hard before we decide what to do. But I must tell you now, you are the one I want, all the love I have to give is already yours.”

Yeah, you've got that something  
I think you'll understand  
When I say that something  
I wanna hold your hand

Napoleon Solo for once in his life was so moved he was speechless. The room around the two partners erupted in applause when Thelonious Monk took the stage. Illya smiled at Napoleon as they released each other’s hands so they could clap with the enthusiasm of all the other fans. As Monk began to play, the room grew dark and quiet. Illya once again took Napoleon’s hand under the table. Sultry sounds of jazz music filled the room. They both leaned back and closed their eyes, allowing themselves to be swept away in the discordant ebb and flow of Monk’s piano playing. Their hands stayed connected, daring anyone to try to separate them.

I wanna hold your hand  
I wanna hold your hand

~~~O~~~

TBC  
Stay tuned! It ain’t over till the credits roll, folks.


End file.
